Dove

You before all others I
Am loving with the silence of
The secret hands which hold the dove.
My bells stand still before the sky;
I draw a single letter in
The gravel on your path of choice:
By that I bless your lips, your voice,
I bless your hands and skin, the thin
Desire that hugs me, and I bless
The mirror, vast and drunk like weather,
By which you show me, squared as chess,
As bent and fragile as the feather.
Wing to wing, your nervousness
Is mine: two plumes who rise together.